Human Nature & Family of Blood
by whiterose blackrose
Summary: Yet another Clara Echo story. This story will comprise of the two episodes, both Human Nature and Family of Blood. HIATUS!
1. John Smith

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor do I own this episode. This is just what I thought should have happened once I found out Clara had lived and died to save the Doctor many times. Most of this is from the transcript which I found online. I am just trying to write what I thought would happen, not trying to steal anything.**

"You're going to be just fine, Jenkins," the beautiful young woman reassures her charge. The small boy looks up at her with wide trusting eyes, blinking owlishly every now and again. Her heart goes out to him as she helps him down from the examination table and hands him a lolly. "I'll check on you in a few hours. Off you pop." She scoots him out the door and he smiles back at her, the lolly already in his mouth and a happy glow on his face.

"T'ank 'ou, Ma'ron," the boy speaks through his lollypop, not wanting to let the sweet candy go. She watches him with a big smile on her face. He scampers off to join the rest of his friends in one of their lower level classes and she laughs. Leaning against the wall, Clara Oswin Oswald watches the students go by, her eyes full of untold wisdom and just a spark of impossibility hidden in twin brown pools.

Although her clothes are rather drab- she'd much rather be wearing red or scarlet on her person- she's dressed in a neat starched nurse's uniform. Clara Oswin Oswald sighs. When her late husband died, Clara had moved to Farringham to make herself a better life. Even at twenty-four years of age, Clara was married off early by her parents, who needed the money. She'd come to love her husband as a companion or a friend, but she'd never loved him with all her heart. That part of her was reserved for the strange man in her dreams. A man with a big chin and bright green eyes and an affiliation for bow ties. Sometimes he'd have a blue box with him and in others he'd be waving a glowing green metal stick. But they were just dreams. Mostly, she gets empathy for the children, but none for her own person. That was until John Smith arrived two months ago.

She presses farther back against the wall to let more boys flow around her when she spots him. Wearing a handsome suit under his professor's robe and a cap on his head, the man makes her smile before he even sees her. She covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing, but a bubble of laughter escapes her mouth. The man seems to be struggling with quite a load of books. She steps in his path, but he is unable to see her as his nose is currently buried in yet another novel. "Oh, good morning, Mister Smith," she says with a flirty smile.

Clara watches as the man blinks at her, his deep brown eyes confused before he smiles at her, reaching out with one hand as if to shakes hers but some of the books tumble to the ground.

"There we go," John grumbles to himself and she chuckles at him.

"Let me help you," Clara reaches out to take some of the burden from John but the man shakes his head.

"No, no, I've got it, no," she watches as he swallows before trying to bend down without losing his other books. "Er, how best to retrieve?" He looks between the books in his hands, the few books on the floor, and Clara herself. "Tell you what. If you could take these..." Clara takes the books from his arms, and he picks up the fallen ones.

"Good," Clara nods, a small smile on her face as she clutches the rest of the books to her small frame. She looks up at him, a hard thing to do since he is about two heads taller than she is, something she finds endearing and annoying at the same time.

"No harm done," John smacks one of the smaller books against his palm and winces slightly before shaking it off. Clara knows he's just trying to act tough. "So, er, how was Jenkins?" His eyes are actually full of concern, so unlike the other teachers. They would all bother her until they had their student back in the classroom, even if it was infectious. But John only seemed to care for the boys in his class

"Oh just a cold," Clara reassures him, a small smile on her face. "Nothing serious. I think he's missing his mother more than anything." She knows the feeling, having lost her Mum right after she married.

"Oh, we can't have that," John chuckles, his grin a little sheepish for a reason she doesn't understand.

"He received a letter this morning, so he's a lot more chipper," she nods. "I appear to be holding your books." She holds out the stack for him, gesturing with her eyes.

"Yes, so you are," the Doctor returns her nod before he realizes what she has said. His face flushes and turns an endearing shade of red. "Sorry, sorry. Just let me." He reaches for the books and begins to pull them back to himself.

"No, why don't I take half?" Clara beams up at him, completely willing to hold her own against the professor. His kind brown eyes sparkle and it reminds her of falling down, down until she reaches nothing. But when she shakes her head, the feeling is gone.

"Ah, brilliant idea," John jumps at the idea. "Brilliant. Perfect. Division of labor." He takes half the books from her arms and she continues to clutch the others to her chest.

"We make quite a team," the words feel natural rolling off of Clara's tongue, as if she's said them before. As if she's known this man for much longer than she has.

"Don't we just," John's words send a tingling zip of pleasure up her spine. His face is still covered in that excited glow that he's been wearing every day since he arrived.

"So, these books," she shakes the books in her arms. "Were they being taken in any particular direction?"

"Yes," John shifts the books in his hands and reaches up to pull on one earlobe with his thumb and forefinger, "this way."

"I always say, Matron, give the boys a good head of steam, they'll soon wear themselves out," John speaks with an extremely learned air about him, his eyes sparkling with a knowing look.

"Truth be told," Clara leans into him, as if to whisper an improper secret, "when it's just you and me, I'd much rather you call me Nurse Oswald." She almost giggles at his shocked expression. Clara's always been told that she had too many "New Age" ideas for her own good. "Matron sounds rather well, matronly."

The man chokes on his own shock, stumbling over his words. "Nurse Redfern it is then." He nods once, before nodding again to himself. The second time is a stronger nod, as if he is accepting the situation.

"Though we've known each other all of two months," Clara's almost leaning against his side as she whispers yet again, "you could even say Clara."

"Clara?" John's eyes go wide at such impropriety.

"That's my name," the brunette girl shrugs, a small smirk on his lips.

"Well, obviously," John rolls his eyes teasing at her and manages to make her giggle, his eyes lighting up at the sound.

"And it's John," Clara jokes, "isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, it is, yes." Clara's almost ready to full on laugh at his point because the conversation has just gotten ridiculous with their back-and-forth flirting/bantering.

They continue to walk to the stairs that eventually lead to John's classroom. Clara stops when something on the notice board catches her eye. It is a poster announcing a dance. Clara's always loved to dance. Sometimes, in her dreams, the green eyed man dances the most ridiculous dance by waving his arms back and forth while moving his body. But her dreams can never be a part of her reality, so she wants to move on with John.

"Have you seen this, John?" Clara asks, modding at the poster. "The annual dance at the village hall tomorrow. It's nothing formal, but rather fun by all accounts." She smiles at the man. "Do you think you'll go?"

"I hadn't thought about it," John shuffles from foot to foot.

"It's been ages since I've been to a dance," Clara says , "only no one's asked me." She bites her. Lip, looking up at John with darkening eyes.

John starts backing away nervously. "Well, I should imagine that you'd be, er, I mean, I never thought you'd be one for," the man stutters, "I mean, there's no reason why you shouldn't. If you do, you may not. I, I probably won't, but even if I did then I couldn't." He blinks and stumbles back even more. "I mean I wouldn't want to..."

"The stairs," Clara warns, reaching out with one arm, the other full of books.

"What about the stairs?" John asks, still backing away as Clara moves forward.

"They're right behind you," Clara steps forward once again and watches with wide eyes as John trips over the first step and goes down in a flurry of books and papers.

* * *

Clara helps the unstable man to his feet and they wobble up to his room. As he is so much taller than Clara, she feels as if she is actually dragging him up the stairs. Sitting him down in a chair by the window, Clara tends to the back of the John's head. "Stop it," she slaps the man's hand away as she searches his head for a bump. "I get boys causing less fuss than this."

The spiky haired man whimpers. "Because it hurts."

Suddenly, John's handmaid, Martha bursts in. "Is he all right?" the dark skinned woman cries as she enters the room.

"Excuse me, Martha," Clara coughs, "it's hardly good form to enter a master's study without knocking."

"Sorry. Right. Yeah." She says this in a snarky tone, one that makes Clara want to laugh inside her head. She goes back to the door and knocks on it.

"But is he all right?" The dark skinned woman looks at her Master in concern. "They said you fell down the stairs, Sir."

"No," John reassures the young woman, "it was just a tumble, that's all."

"Have you checked for concussion?" Martha asks, almost glaring at Clara.

"I have," Clara replies tersely. "And I daresay I know a lot more about it than you."

"Sorry," Martha flushes. "I'll just tidy your things." She nods at the two and begins to clean up the other side of the room.

"I was just telling Nurse Oswald," he pauses and corrects himself, "Matron, about my dreams. They are quite remarkable tales." Clara nods, her eyes alight with intrigue that John cannot see from where he's sitting. "I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding."

"Hiding?" Clara asks. "In what way?"

"They're almost every night," John nods and mumbles, "this is going to sound silly."

"Tell me," Clara prompts, running her fingers through her hair as if she is still looking for a bump.

"I dream, quite often, that I have two hearts," he tells her, his voice heavy with surprise. His eyes are closed as the soothing feel of her fingers in his hair calms him.

"Well, then," Clara smiles, pulling her hand away to reach for her stethoscope. "I can be the judge of that. Let's find out." She reaches out to press the cold metal against his skin, making him shiver, and she smiles at him. With a quick test, she nods her head. "I can confirm the diagnosis. Just one heart, singular." Her dark eyes look up into his and she finds herself back in that Vortex, falling down.

"I have, er," he bites his lip. "I have written down some of these dreams in the form of fiction." He shakes his head and stands. "Not that it would be of any interest."

"I'd be very interested," Clara encourages him, her love of all things impossible making her yearn to know his tales.

"Well, I've never actually shown it to anyone before.," he flushes, looking down at her with a shy smile.

John hands Clara a handwritten book. "A Journal of Impossible Things," she reads, turning the pages. On the pages are lots of inky scrawl and pictures. "Just look at these creatures," Clara traces her hand over what looks like a pepper shaker with a plunger where one hand should be and a whisk for the other. For some odd reason, Clara gets a flash of the words EGGS and trying to keep something out of her space. "Such imagination."

"It's become quite a hobby," John admits, holding the other end of the journal.

The Moxx of Balhoon, Autons labelled as plastic men, one of the Pompadour clockwork robots, which Clara doesn't know the names of, but they are semi-labeled as alien begins.

"It's wonderful," Clara breathes. She traces the face of a beautiful girl with dark eyes and what she can guess is blond hair from the way it's hardly colored in. Her eyes seem to be looking into one's soul from the page. "And quite an eye for the pretty girls," she teases him, as is her way.

"Oh no, no, she's just an invention," John flushes, scratching the back of his neck. "This character, Rose. I call her, Rose. Seems to disappear later on." He sniffs.

Clara turns the page and giggles, pointing to the robots that look utterly ridiculous (Cybermen). And when she reaches a picture of a blue box with a strange light on top, she feels a pang within her memory. A whooshing noise echoes though her mind before it is gone. John smiles and taps the place below the blue box that is labeled magic box.

"Ah, that's the box," he says it like the picture it somehow a part of him. And deep down inside, Clara can sense that it is. "The blue box. It's always there. Like a like a magic carpet. This funny little box that transports me to far away places."

"Like a doorway?" Clara asks, her eyes wide. Her excitement was escalating with each new discovery to be found inside the blue book. She turns the page to find sketches of other faces, old faces and young faces.

"I sometimes think how magical life would," John sighs, "be if stories like this were true."

"If only," Clara nods, resting a hand on his arm. Her other hand clutches the book to her chest.

John laughs it off and smiles at her, a wide smile and the sparkle in his eyes is back. "It's just a dream," he shrugs it off. Clara turns the page for the final time and pauses. Inside the Impossible Journal, is a picture of the pocket watch John kept on his mantle place.

* * *

Clara hears loud footsteps coming toward her and she turns around to find herself face to face with John's maidservant.

"Ma'am?" Martha pauses in front of her. "That book."

"Oh, I'll look after it," Clara nods her head, holding the book close to her chest as if cradling a child. "Don't worry. He did say I could read it."

"But it's silly, that's all," Martha shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "Just stories."

"Who is he, Martha?" Clara asks, her eyes focusing in on the maid's odd behavior.

"I'm sorry?" Martha stutters, falling backward a step.

"It's like he's left the kettle on," Clara taps her chin, looking up to contemplate. "Like he knows he has something to get back to, but he can't remember what."

"That's just him," Martha looks around nervously, as if she'd hiding something from the other young woman. Clara's been around kids so long that she can tell when someone's lying.

"You arrived with him, didn't you?" Clara tilts her head to the side. "He found you employment here at the school, isn't that right?"

"I used to work for the family," Martha nods, looking down, "he just sort of inherited me."

"Well, I'd be careful," Clara glares slightly. "If you don't mind my saying, you sometimes seem a little familiar with him. Best remember your position."

"Yes, ma'am," Martha nods and hurries back to the Doctor.

Later that night, Clara dreams. She dreams about tripping over a cliff and falling down. Falling down a rabbit hole the color of Autumn leaves with small golden strands weaved throughout. As she's falling, she sees visions of a person's very, very long life. She sees all of the different faces that she remembers from John's book and she sees stars and planets. She sees the pepper pots and snowmen with sharp pointy teeth. She sees a golden chamber with a keyboard and sitting inside the chair is her, of all things. She knows it can't be her because the being is wearing a blue dress with strands of gold weaved into the fabric, and her eyes are a bright golden color. The thing is staring straight at Clara, as if it can see into her soul.

Suddenly, the whole Vortex changes and becomes dark, beginning to push her out. It becomes a nightmare and she doesn't know where she is. She's screaming on the inside, but there's no one to understand her.

"DOCTOR!" Clara wakes up screaming, sweat making her nightdress cling to her skin. Her eyes are wide as she tries to recall the dream. But all she remembers is a pair of bright grass green eyes and a big chin. Pulling herald out of bed, Clara wraps a thick robe around her and goes out for a walk.

**The Family to come next chapter. A little Allonswin for all you shippers out there. Hope you guys enjoyed it!**


	2. Getting To Know You

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor do I own this episode. This is just what I thought should have happened once I found out Clara had lived and died to save the Doctor many times. Most of this is from the transcript which I found online. I am just trying to write what I thought would happen, not trying to steal anything.**

Clara walks along the path leading from town to the pub, where she knows she'll find a tiny bit of relief in a drop of alcohol. Small parts of her dream are still floating around in her head and the thought of the nightmarish Vortex makes her shudder every time she thinks about it. She is walking through a field when she is blinded by a green light that appears to be searching the ground. Then it disappears.

Clara blinks in surprise before her heart begins to beat out a fast rhythm against her chest as she speeds away from where the light appeared from. She finds herself standing in front of the pub and Martha's reaching for her hand. "Matron, are you all right?" the dark skinned woman asks, her eyes wide and bright from the light from inside.

"Did you see that?" Clara's breathing so hard she can barely get the words out. Inside her head, she's curing her small stature while outside she looks panicked. "There was something in the woods." She points toward the forest. "This... light."

Martha opens her mouth to respond when, from the corner of her eye, Clara catches sight of John. She spins around to face him as he comes to stand next to her. He's walking in a relaxed manor, as if he hadn't seen the green light in the forest. The brunette's body is still shaking from the experiences and John sees. He frowns and takes of his suit jacket and wraps it around her shoulder. She clutches at the lapels and smiles at him, burying her face in the heady scent of earth and something so familiarly John that her heart flutters.

"Anything wrong, ladies?" he questions them as he slips his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He rocks back and forth on his heels. "Far too cold to be standing around in the dark, don't you." He glances at Clara, who seems to be drowning in his jacket and he smiles at her again.

"There, there," Clara points to something in the distant sky. "Look in the sky." A green light crosses the sky.

"Oh, that's beautiful," Jenny, Martha's friend commented with bright eyes as the light flew past them.

"All gone," John reassured Clara, resting an arm comfortably around her shoulder and the woman gets a flash of the man in her dreams doing the same thing... telling her about a love story. She shakes her head and the memory, or vision, is gone. John, however, is still running his mouth like a scholar. "Commonly known as a meteorite. It's just rocks falling to the ground, that's all." He rubs her shoulder reassuringly.

"It came down in the woods," Clara contradicts him, folding her arms across her chest and giving him her best pout.

"No, no, no," the man shakes his head with a smile. "No, they always look close, when actually they're miles off." He makes a tiny gap between his thumb and pointer finger as if to signify something infinitesimally small. "Nothing left but a cinder." He holds out his arm and Clara tucks her hand into the crook of it. "Now, I should escort you back to the school." He turns to Martha and Jenny. "Ladies?"

Martha shakes her head, giving the man a small smile. "No, we're fine, thanks." Jenny nods her head in agreement.

"Then I shall bid you goodnight," John tips his invisible hat to Martha and Jenny, who laugh at him. Clara just rolls her eyes and smacks his arm with her other hand. He beams down at her as he begins to lead her away from the tavern, his coat warm on her body and his scent in her nostrils. She falls asleep in his arms before they even make it out of the forest.

The next day, Clara finds herself walking the grounds of the school. She'd not had the nightmare last night, but that might have been due to John putting her back in her bed. She had woken up briefly to tell him what a beautiful man he was because, even in sleep she was finding herself falling for him.

She leans against the wall and watches as John tries to show the boys in his class to shoot the guns in their hands. He looks extremely uncomfortable with the firearm in his hand and they almost look as if they're shaking. She closes her eyes for a moment until a shadow hangs over her.

She opens them again to find herself looking up at John Smith, his brown eyes as bright as chocolate. "Ah, Nurse Oswald," he smiles at her. It reminds her of the smiles her husband used to give her when he was feeling well. He had been a nice man for someone so much older than her and, on occasion, he even reminded her of the man in her dreams. Her husband did have an affinity for bow ties.

"Er," Clara fiddles with her apron, shaking her head of her dreary thoughts. "I'll give you back your journal when next I see you."

"No, no, no," he shakes his head, his eyes still bright. "You don't have to."

"If you'll excuse me, Mister Smith," Clara wipes at her eye, making John look worried. "I was just thinking about the day my husband was shot." His eyes go wide and he scurries away, but not before promising to take her out for lunch later.

* * *

In the village on Farringham, Clara and John walk side by side. Their hands are swinging between them, brushing every once in a while but the crisp chill hides the blush on both of their cheeks. Clara notices two workmen hoisting an upright piano up to the first floor window of the Ironmongers.

"His name was Oliver," Clara explains as they walk. John nods in understanding. "He died in the battle of Spion Cop. He was much older than I but I loved him as a friend. But you see," Clara shakes her head, "I was angry with the army for such a long time." She squeezes her hand into a fist.

"You still are," John notes, motioning with his head down to her hands.

She flushes and unclenches her fist. "I find myself as part of that school watching boys learn how to kill."

"Don't you think discipline is good for them?" John asks.

"Does it have to be such military discipline?" Clara shakes her head, small tresses flying out of her bun. "I mean, if there's another war," she chuckles, "those boys won't find it so amusing. "

"Well, Great Britain is at peace, long may it reign."

"In your journal, in one of your stories," Clara recounts, "you wrote about next year. Nineteen fourteen."

"That was just a dream," John retorts, confused as to why Clara's taking his journal seriously.

"All those images of mud and wire. You told of a shadow. A shadow falling across the entire world." The brunette shudders, running a hand through her hair.

"Well then, we can be thankful it's not true," John ruffles her hair, making her giggles. "And I'll admit mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself." He looks around and takes in a large breath of fresh air. "Everyday life can provide honor and valor, and let's hope that from now on this, this country can find its heroes in smaller places. "

Clara looks around at the town with curious eyes. A woman rings her bicycle bell as she peddles along. The men with the piano struggle as it dangles from a fraying rope. Then a woman pushing a pram comes around the corner.

"In the most ..." John pauses, his eyes almost calculating in a way. He sees a boy standing next to him, with a cricket ball in his hand. Clara notices out of the corner of her eye that some more of the rope frays and the piano drops a bit. "Ordinary of, of deeds."

Clara watches with wide eyes as John grabs the cricket ball, throws it at the scaffolding outside the Ironmongers, which falls and hits a plank that sends a brick flying through the air to knock down a milk churn in front of the pram, stopping it just before the rope finally gives up and drops the piano to the ground mere feet in front. The piano falls to pieces and the baby starts crying. Clara looks from John to the scene before her and back to the peculiar man standing next to her.

"Are you all right?" one of the workmen asks in surprise. "How's the little one?" He looks down into the pram to notice the baby is still crying.

"Lucky," John smiles.

"That was luck?" Clara asks breathlessly in surprise.

"Nurse Oswald," John spins around to face Clara, taking one of her hands in his, "might I invite you to the village dance this evening, as my guest?"

"You extraordinary man," Clara breathes out as she reaches up to hug the man.

* * *

Clara and John are walking back to the school via a field. Clara stamps her heels into the taller lines carved by a cart. Nearby, she can see a scarecrow that seems to be looking right at the two of them. John walks alongside her, watching with a smile as she stomps like a little kid.

"Oh, it's all becoming clear now," Clara laughs and John finds himself assaulted by her humany-wumany scent. "The Doctor is the man you'd like to be, doing impossible things with cricket balls."

"Well, I discovered a talent, that's certainly true," John nods with a chuckle.

"But the Doctor has an eye for the ladies," Clara comments, remembering the beautiful blond in the man's journal.

"The devil," John smirks back at her, his mouth tilted up almost as if he is trying, and failing, to be seductive.

"A girl at every fireplace," Clara comments absently, as if she is remembering a flash of orange and a smile coming from the other side of her bedroom fireplace.

"Ah," John flushes, glaring at the woman for a moment, "now, there I have to protest, Clara. That is hardly me."

"Says the man dancing with me tonight," Clara rolls her eyes and knocks her shorter sholder against John's.

"That scarecrow's all skewed," the man in the suit points to the scarecrow that seems to be watching them wander about. Clara follows him as they walk up to it, and John ties its arm back onto the cross-member.

"Ever the artist," Clara teases. "Where did you learn to draw?"

"Gallifrey," John answers immediately, before his brows furrow and he looks confused.

"Is that in Ireland?" Clara asks, although she has a feeling it's not. For, the moment it was mentioned, she gets a flash of burnt orange grass, beautiful silver trees, and a couple making love in a clearing. The two people, a man and a woman, seem to be surrounded by a hazy glow of stars.

Shaking her head of the thought, she turns back to John as he answers, "yes, it must be, yes."

"But you're not Irish?" It is Clara's turn to get confused.

"Not at all, no," John shakes his head. "My father Sidney was a watchmaker from Nottingham, and my mother Verity was, er." He flushes. "Well, she was a nurse, actually."

"Oh," Clara smiles in a teasing manor as she curls her hand around his arm. "We make such good wives."

"Really?" John shakes his head and continues to fiddle with the scarecrow in front of them. "Right. Yes. Well, my work is done. What do you think?"

"Masterpiece," Clara giggles.

"All sorts of skills today!" John's voice is light and happy and he smiles down at Clara with such a tender look in his eye that she can't look away. As they walk away, Clara has a nagging feeling in the back of her head that the scarecrow is actually watching them.

* * *

Back inside the school, Clara sits with her chin held high as she watches John make a sketch of her. His hand moves back and forth quickly on the paper and she wonders if he's actually drawing her or one of his crazy memories. When he seems to be finished and his hand moves no more, Clara smiles and relaxes her body. "Can I see?" she asks. The brown eyed man sits next to her on the Chesterfield. "Oh, goodness," Clara puts her hand to her heart at the beatiful drawing. "Do I look like that?" John nods and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Are you sure that's not me?" She is obviously joking, but she turns back to the previous page to point to a baby-faced green alien with pudgy features and big souless eyes (Slitheen)

"Most definitely this page," the man brushes her hand away and turns back to the picture of her that he'd just done. "Do you like it?" His words are hushed, as if he is afraid of her answer.

J"You've made me far too beautiful," Clara argues, pulling her hands back to her side, even as she reaches for him with her eyes.

"Well, that's how I see you," John shrugs and Clara flushes to the very tips of her hair.

"Widows aren't supposed to be beautiful," Clara sighs. "I think the world would rather we stopped. Is that fair? That we stop?"

John shakes his head and cups her face in his hands. Clara can remember that this is remarkably similar to what the man in her dreams does. But it is John now, not the green eyed man that makes her heart flutter so. "That's not fair at all," he breaths against her face. Tangling one hand in her hair and the other still cupping her cheek, he brings her face closer to his. And then there are sparks and stars and fireworks and everything else Clara can imagine bursting between them.

"I've never, er," the man before her looks a lot less confident than he was before, but she just shakes her head and pulls his lips back to hers. And the stars behind her eyelids sparkle even more than they did before.

John pulls his lips away from her's for a moment to chastise his maid before pulling her back into his arms with a smile on his lips as they kiss again.

**Little bit of fluff and Clara still has dreams about Eleven, but she doesn't know him at all. He is still the man in her dreams. Sorry for taking so long to update. New poll for next story. Some will be longer than others depending on how much of the character Clara's replacing is in the story. Please vote and review! One more part of Human Nature before we move on to Family of Blood.**


	3. A Disaster of a Dance

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor do I own this episode. This is just what I thought should have happened once I found out Clara had lived and died to save the Doctor many times. Most of this is from the transcript which I found online. I am just trying to write what I thought would happen, not trying to steal anything.**

(The Night of the Dance)

Clara spins around to show of her crimson dress with a low neckline and an accentuated waist. She giggles, feeling dizzy for a moment until John puts his hand on her shoulder to stop the world from twirling around her.

"You look wonderful," John comments with a smile.

"You'd best give me some warning," Clara laughs, a huge smile on her face to echo his. "Er, can you actually dance?"

"I'm not certain," John's eyebrows scrunch up and he has an adorable pout on his face.

"There's a surprise," Clara rolls her eyes. "Is there anything you're certain about?"

John gives her a look that makes her heart flutter and her eyes widen slightly. "Yes." He nods to himself as if reaffirming a belief. "Yes." He takes her hands and she blushes like mad.

Suddenly, Martha bursts in, breathless. "They've found us," her voice shakes with urgency as she speaks.

"This is ridiculous," Clara throws her hands up in the air before she crosses her arms.

"Martha, I've warned you," John starts off sternly.

They've found us, and I've seen them," her eyes are wide with panic. "They look like people, like us, like normal. I'm sorry, but you've got to open the watch." She begins to search the room, her hands moving swiftly across the top of one of the shelves. "Where is it?" She searches the mantlepiece. "Oh, my God. Where's it gone? Where's the watch?" She spins around to face John with her eyes still wide.

"What are you talking about?" the man asks.

"You had a watch," Martha stresses. "A fob watch. Right there." She points to the mantelpiece.

"Did I?" John scratches his head. "I don't remember."

"I can't see what concern it is of yours," Clara crosses her arms, glaring at Martha.

"But we need it." Clara wonders if Martha's been under too much stress lately. "Oh, my God, Doctor, we're hiding from aliens, and they've got Jenny and they've possessed her or copied her or something, and you've got to tell me, where's the watch?" The dark skinned woman rambled.

"Oh, I see. Cultural differences." He shakes his head and walks up to Martha. "It must be so confusing for you." He holds his hands out to her and stresses, "Martha, this is what we call a story."

"Oh you complete…" Martha shakes her head and bites her lip. Clara thinks she's about to slap him. "This is not you. This is nineteen thirteen."

"Good," John nods. "This is nineteen thirteen."

"I've sorry," Martha shakes her head sadly. "I'm really sorry, but I've got to snap you out of this."

Martha slaps the Doctor, hard, and Clara jumps. "Martha!"

"Wake up!" she cries, her eyes full of tears. "You're coming back to the TARDIS with me."

"How dare, how dare you," John's face is red with rage. "I'm not going anywhere with an insane servant." He crosses his arms and glares at the young woman. "Martha, you are dismissed. You will leave these premises immediately. Now get out!" He pushes Martha out into the corridor.

"The nerve of it. The absolute cheek." He shakes his head and turns to Clara. "You think I'm a fantasist? What about her?"

"The funny thing is," Clara bites her lip and looks down at her hands, "you did have a fob watch, right there." She taps a nail on the mantelpiece. "Don't you remember?"

* * *

Shaking off the odd beginning to their evening, John leads Clara to the village hall. She smiles up and him and he beams back at her. "She's infatuated," the brunette whispers to John. "You're a dangerous man." She twists around under his arm and she can't stop smiling.

"You've taken my arm in public," John chuckles as he watches her dance circles around him in the moonlight. They've finally reached the hall and Clara's eyes go wide. John can almost taste the excitement in the air as she looks from him to the hall.

"I'm very scared," Clara reaches out and scratches his chin, giggling a little.

"Spare a penny for the veterans of the Crimea, sir?" a raggedy looking man shakes a cup in their direction. Clara's heart goes out to the man. She looks up at the Doctor with wide pleading eyes and he nods.

"Yes, of course," he nods, placing a coin in the man's tin cup. "There you are." Joan held out his arm for Clara and she took it, wishing the man a happy night as they went inside.

After a few minutes of awkwardly standing around, a man in suspenders steps onto the stage a smiles at everyone. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announces in a loud voice, "please take your partners for a waltz."

The village band starts playing, and John spins Clara around, making her laugh. The noise sounds better than the music being played.

"You can dance," Clara laughs as the young man pulls her into a waltz. They spins around and around and Clara's laughter continues to echo.

"I surprise myself," John responds, pressing a hand to the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. Their bodies are pressed together and Clara can feel a shiver run up her spine. She can feel John's breath on her lips and if she could just reach up and...

They bump into another couple, knocking Clara out of her daydream. "Sorry," John apologizes, breaking the brunette out of her trance. She smiles weakly at him and he coughs awkwardly. "Drinks?" he asks, trying to get past the awkwardness. John leads Clara over to a table and promises to return with drinks.

Clara fiddles with her dress while she waits for John to return with drinks. She blinks when Martha sits down at the table with Clara. "Please, don't," Clara shakes her head, not wanting to get into it with the dark skinned woman again. "Not again."

Martha ignores her and continues. "He's different from any other man you've ever met, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," the brunette doesn't understand the need for such a question, but she answers truthfully.

"And sometimes he says these strange things, like people and places you've never heard of, yeah?" Martha presses on, her eyes almost sad. "But it's deeper than that. Sometimes when you look in his eyes you know, you just know that there's something else in there. Something hidden." Clara nods, her heart almost cracking at the truth in the woman's words. "Right behind the eyes, something hidden away in the dark."

"I don't know what you mean," Clara tries to wipe the sadness out of her eyes.

"Yes, you do," Martha retorts, shooting a woman a knowing look that means she'd been caught. "I don't mean to be rude, but the awful thing is it doesn't even matter what you think." Clara blinks, offended by her words. "But you're nice. And you're lucky." Martha shakes her head. "And I just wanted to say sorry for what I'm about to do."

Just as Martha finishes her rant, John returns with two glasses of champagne.

"Oh, now really, Martha," he shakes his head. "This is getting out of hand. I must insist that you leave."

Martha holds up a mechanical device that looks out of place. Something in the back of Clara's mind whispers that it's a sonic screwdriver, but she doesn't understand how she knows that. So she ignores the idea of a futuristic screwdriver. "Do you know what this is?" she asked. "Name it. Go on, name it."

"John, what is that silly thing?" she blinks up at the man she thought she knew. "John?" The man in question takes the screwdriver.

"You're not John Smith," Martha tells him, making both Clara and his own heads shoot up. "You're called the Doctor. The man in your journal, he's _real_." She pokes him in the chest. "He's _you_."

Clara blinks, her eyes wide. All she can see is bow ties and falling down that golden tunnel.

Suddenly, the three of them jump when a man none of them know shouts, "There will be silence! All of you!" Clara shudders as what looks like empty scarecrows enter. John puts a hand on her back and she leans into him, still shaking in fear. The other people in attendance begin to scream. "I said, silence!" The strange man screams again.

"Mister Clarke," Chambers, the host of the evening, steps forward, "what's going on?"

There is a flash of light and then Chambers is gone. Clara screams as she realizes the man has been vaporized. The only thing left of the nice old man is a pile of ash.

"Mister Smith?" Martha's voice shakes and her eyes go wide. "Everything I told you, just forget it!" John blinks. "Don't say _anything_."

"We asked for silence!" another man roars. Every single person in the hall is quiet. Clara finds her mouth has gone dry as she clings to John in confusion. "Now then, we have a few questions for Mister Smith."

"No, better than that," a dark haired little girl with a creepy smile points at John. "The teacher. He's the Doctor. I heard them talking." Clara watches as Martha's eyes go wide.

"You took human form," the young man who used to be a student in John's class speaks up. His eyes flash green for a moment before they become a sickly green.

"Of course I'm human," John rolls his eyes. "I was born human, as were you, Baines. And Jenny, and you, Mister Clark." He stands up. his hand on Clara's shoulder as if to both steady himself and reassure Clara. "What is going on? This is madness."

The boy that used to be in John's class gives an evil smirk. "Ooo, and a human brain, too. Simple, thick and dull."

"But he's no good like this," Jenny, Martha's friend, whines. Martha stiffens and her mouth opens in disgust.

"We need a Time Lord," the thing that has taken Mr. Clark's form argues.

"Easily done," the form of Baines shrugs. He steps forward and raises his ray gun. Clara's mouth goes dry and she squeezes the hand on her shoulder. "Change back."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John responds, a slight quiver in his voice. Clara notices that Martha is looking at him with big sad eyes.

"Change back!" Baines shakes the strange ray gun at him, a menacing look on his face.

"I literally do not know..." John is cut off when he hears Martha let out a gut wrenching cry. Clara looks over and stifles a horrified gasp. Jenny has grabbed Martha, and is holding a gun to her head.

"Get off me!" Martha struggles in Jenny's hold, her former friend only a shell for whatever alien is inside her.

"She's your friend, isn't she?" the thing inside Jenny asks, her voice almost chiding. "Doesn't this scare you enough to change back?"

"I don't know what you mean!" John cries, running a hand through his hair.

Martha is still struggling in Jenny's tight hold when the thing inside Jenny realizes something. "Wait a minute." Jenny's smirk turns evil. "The maid told me about Smith and the Matron." She gestures with the ray gun to Clara and the brunette's heart speeds up. The look on her face is one of pure terror. "That woman, there."

"Then let's have you," Clark, the closest one to Clara and John, lunges for her. Clara cries out as a cold gun is pressed to her head. Her whole body shudders and her breathing becomes harsh. John's eyes look from Martha to Clara, a pain in his eyes like Clara has never seen before.

"Have you enjoyed it, Doctor, being human?" Baines snarls, his mouth twisted in gruesome smirk. "Has it taught you wonderful things? Are you better, richer, wiser?" With each question, the boy steps closer and closer to John, who still had a puzzled expression on his face. "Then let's see you answer this." He points the gun in his hand between the two women. "Which one of them do you want us to kill? Maid or matron? Your friend or your lover?"

John's eyes bulge and Clara's heart speeds up so much that she feels like she's going to have a panic attack. She wants to shout out to John to let her go. That she's lived enough of her life. But it's as if her mouth is filled with cotton.

"Your choice." The words Baines speaks hang in the air like heavy smoke. The whole room is frozen.

**Finally, part 3 of Human Nature. Next time I update, which will hopefully be much sooner than this one, we will get to see what John Smith has to say. Please don't forget to review and vote for what you want the next Clara echo episode to be. Thanks for sticking with me!**


End file.
